


A Better Fate Than Roadkill

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Animal Transformation, Armadillo Shaming, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Jesse McCree is the Armadillo, M/M, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: When shelter worker Hanzo takes in a rescued armadillo, he doesn't expect it to be quite so much trouble. Or for it to take such a shine to him. Or for it to maybe, possibly, be more than an ordinary armadillo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluandorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/gifts), [krebkrebkreb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krebkrebkreb/gifts), [RedLionPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLionPrince/gifts), [RetrogamingRaccoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetrogamingRaccoon/gifts).



> I started writing this fic in a series of drabbles on Tumblr after a very, very, very silly conversation during one of [bluandorange](https://bluandorange.tumblr.com)'s art streams. It spawned a [whole boatload of glorious armadillo art](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com/post/172618995477/armadillo-mccree-art-roundup-quick-background-for) (also linked at the end), and more silly conversations turned into some related animal-transformation fics like coinin's [Rooster in the House of the Rising Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14585805/chapters/33707691) and Papallion's [Jesse and Tumbleweed](https://archiveofourown.org/series/997797) series.
> 
> Anyway, it's about time I finished it, so I'm posting the first half here to force myself to update with the no-doubt-riveting conclusion.

Five minutes before Hanzo was scheduled to go home, two burly men entered the shelter, something squirming under a red wool blanket. The men told him they’d found the animal just outside a bar, rooting around under the wool and a cowboy hat. Hanzo couldn’t figure what kind of person would simply abandon their hat with an armadillo, but neither of the men wanted to claim it, and so Hanzo took that too. Maybe it had been someone’s idea of a joke. The armadillo himself only had three full legs, the front left ending halfway down, and the men didn’t know how it had happened or what to do with him. 

Hanzo looked mournfully at the clock and thought about dinner, but he figured he could put it off until he’d checked the armadillo in. It didn’t seem too active; in fact it seemed a bit dazed. Perhaps dehydrated, he thought. He thanked the strangers and got the little guy some water.

They had treated armadillos before. Hanzo sort of liked them; they were funny, less aggressive than some of the other wild animals they rescued. This one drank its water with fervor, occasionally glancing at Hanzo with what almost seemed like gratitude. It squirmed while he inspected the leg, but the wound seemed old, and he let it go soon enough.

“You must be very scrappy,” he said, “to still be around with such a wound.” It flicked its ears at him.

Hanzo couldn’t put his finger on it—he was no expert in armadillos—but there was something very  _off_ about this one. It wasn’t exactly the bad sort of off, not the kind that made him sense danger or even that a scratch or bite was coming, just an oddness about its behavior. Nothing suggested it needed immediate attention now that it had water, though, so Hanzo got some fresh straw set up in one of the cages, coaxed the armadillo in, and let the new rescue be someone else’s problem for the evening.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, the armadillo was a problem child. He slept at night. He refused to eat bugs. He refused to eat cat food. He refused to do _anything_ right, but the veterinarian said there was nothing physically wrong with him. He didn’t even carry the bacteria some of them did; he was in fact conspicuously clean by armadillo standards. Dr. Winston insisted on checking his bloodwork again soon, but as long as he would eat something, he was reasonably healthy in the meantime.

“Sandy,” Hanzo said, brandishing an ear of corn, “you can’t be a picky eater.” He set the corn down on a towel, and this, at least, the armadillo would eat. He tucked into it with enthusiasm, and Hanzo breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t refused again. He made a note of it on Sandy’s chart, and he watched him, a little amused.

Sandy did not eat like an armadillo should eat. Sure, he had corn on his snout, but he ate with his good front foot holding the corn steady, working his way down in tidy little rows, like a person might. It was a strange thought, and while he was thinking it, Sandy looked up, right into his eyes, and he flicked his ears and grunted.

Sandy also wouldn’t run on the wheel. He wouldn’t burrow in dirt or straw or anything else they gave him except the red blanket he’d come in with. He was, so far, a strict vegetarian. He was sociable with people but not with other animals, which wasn’t entirely uncommon but added to his collection of odd traits anyway.

Hanzo was babysitting a group playtime, trying to see how Sandy would do, but Sandy would have none of it. He stayed near Hanzo, staring right at him, squeaking rapidly and far more than any armadillo ought to.

“You should go play with your new friends,” Hanzo told him. Sandy grunted at him, and Hanzo sighed. Under Hanzo’s watchful eye, one of their two kit foxes came to sniff at Sandy, who shied away and squeaked a little more forcefully. Vee moved warily around him, then she tucked her tail and darted back across the room. That too was odd; she was normally friendly and quite gentle with the other animals, a good choice for socializing newbies.

Sandy really, truly didn’t like other animals. They seemed to make him nervous. They didn’t especially like him in return, either. The foxes in particular kept their distance after the first time.

But he liked people well enough. He was downright chatty with Hanzo. He still wouldn’t exercise properly, so after a few careful test runs, Hanzo allowed Sandy to follow him through their little facility, claws clicking on the linoleum and squeaks a near constant.

He was in the office answering emails for their latest fundraiser when Genji came by with lunch.

“Oh my god, is that the new one?” Genji asked immediately.

“Yes. Sandy, meet Genji. Genji, meet Sandy. He is the world’s worst armadillo.” Sandy let out a rapid series of squeaks, as if he were offended.

“Worst like I can’t eat in front of him or…?”

“Worst like he doesn’t know how to be an armadillo. You can eat in front of him. He won’t want it anyway.” Hanzo spared a little glare for Sandy, who stared right back and flicked his ears.

Genji dropped a takeout bag in front of Hanzo, then flopped into a chair and pulled out his own sandwich. “I won’t be home until late tonight,” Genji said. Hanzo liked to know these things; on more than one occasion he had woken up with a burst of adrenaline, ready to take on an intruder. “Maybe not at all if things go well.” Genji waggled his eyebrows.

Hanzo snorted. “Where are you going?”

“Guy I’m seeing has a gig tonight.“

“I thought you were seeing a nurse,” Hanzo said, unwrapping his sandwich.

Genji grunted. “Same guy. That’s his big boy job. But he says DJing is his passion,” he said as he wiggled his fingers, “so I guess I get to find out if he’s any good.”

“At least this one has a job,” Hanzo said, shooting his brother a weighty look.

“Two!” Genji said, grinning. “Any big plans for you?”

“Too many to choose from,” Hanzo said, and he swore Sandy was just watching him eat. It was another strange thing from this strange animal.

“Let me guess: your options are a boring book or a boring documentary?”

“They aren’t boring,” Hanzo said, and Genji just laughed.

A piece of turkey fell from Hanzo’s sandwich, and he looked at Sandy again, whose watchful eyes were still on him. He double-checked that the turkey didn’t have any dressing on it, and he held out a hand. Sandy ate right out of it with a happy little squeak.

“Is that normal?” Genji asked.

“Nothing about him is normal.” Sandy let out an offended-sounding huff.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo spent the weekend at home. Genji didn’t show up until Saturday, in the kind of mood that made Hanzo both happy for him and a little tired. Genji, naturally, did not take the cue to leave Hanzo alone; he instead pestered Hanzo about spending “too much” time alone.

“I am not alone,” Hanzo said. He gestured at the terrarium that housed his blue-tongued skinks.

Despite that he was holding his own at the moment, Genji still laughed. He pet a hand over her head. “You need friends who don’t eat bugs.”

“You know bugs are a delicacy in many countries,” Hanzo muttered, but he watched Soba snap at a wriggling earthworm and he thought his brother might have a point.

He spent most of Sunday fielding texts from Lena, who was apparently having as much trouble getting Sandy to eat as he had. Hanzo hadd written everything Sandy would eat on his file, yet it seemed he was being especially fussy. He thought about going in. Then he thought about how much Genji would mock him for working on a Sunday, thought about the gym he hadn’t been to in two days and the dojo he’d ignored for four, and he managed to stay away from work for another day.

 

* * *

  

“I think he likes you best,” Lena laughed on Monday. Sandy chattered as if in response, and Hanzo sighed.

“If that is true, Sandy, you’ll get in the bath,” Hanzo scolded. Sandy huffed and flicked his ears, but he did not, in fact, get in the bath. He circled the plastic basin warily.

“They’re supposed to like water,” Lena said, crouching down near Sandy, who eyed her. She flicked a little of the water at him, and he made a sound almost like a high-pitched honk and moved closer to Hanzo.

“Sandy, we see you naked every day. There’s no reason to be shy.” Hanzo tapped the edge of the basin. Sandy nudged his leg, and Hanzo gave up on patience. Mindful of Sandy’s clawed feet, Hanzo plucked him up and dunked him unceremoniously into the basin.

Sandy made a sound like an angry cat and strained his head upward like he was afraid to drown. Hanzo grabbed for him again, petting a hand down his back until Sandy seemed to realize the water wasn’t that deep. It only came up his shell a little ways, with plenty of room for him to stand up above it. “See?” Hanzo asked, and he tentatively scooped some water over Sandy’s back.

Lena just stared. “He is so…”

“Strange? Yes.” Hanzo thought about the way he’d seemed afraid he’d drown. “Perhaps his eyesight is worse than usual?” Hanzo continued to pet the water over the armor on his back. “Are you going to be good now?” Sandy squeaked, and he moved happily in the water while Hanzo scrubbed the tough armor gently with a brush. Eventually, he even purred. When he was clean enough, Hanzo let him splash happily in the water to rinse off. He even rolled in it, went belly up and let Hanzo scratch at his tummy. It only lasted a moment before he wriggled back to his feet, ears flicking water, and scrambled away from Hanzo’s hand and out of the basin.

They had to chase him, but it wasn’t difficult, even when he was wet. He scrabbled a little on the linoleum, neither the water nor his missing leg allowing for a great deal of speed. Hanzo snorted as he scooped him up into one of their faded old towels. “Troublemaker.”

Lena giggled, rubbing another towel over his back while Hanzo held him. Sandy just flicked his ears, but he was perfectly still for them. “He wasn’t half this good for me this weekend. You’re definitely his favorite.”

 

* * *

 

Once a day, someone—usually Hanzo—took Sandy out to the small enclosed yard to see if he might do, well, anything that looked like typical armadillo behavior. They half hoped he might enjoy digging for his own food, but he wouldn’t dig at all. Hanzo watched him sniff about, and he did take some time to trot about the yard. He seemed to enjoy the freedom at least. He did little else though, and he kept glancing back at Hanzo as if he needed instruction. Sandy was still the strangest armadillo Hanzo had ever met, and the shelter animal most in need of hands-on attention.

“This should be all instinct,” Hanzo huffed at him. Sandy squeaked back. “Don’t make excuses, Sandy. Go dig.” Sandy grunted at him and waddled closer again. “I’m not giving you any more watermelon until you dig.” This did very little to persuade him. He butted up against Hanzo’s leg and gave another squeak.

Hanzo sighed at him and crouched down to give him a little push. Sandy wouldn’t budge; he was surprisingly strong. “If you aren’t going to eat properly, you should at least exercise.” Hanzo gave him another gentle push, and Sandy scrambled away only to circle around to Hanzo’s other side. Hanzo reached out to pat him until he circled back. “Mischievous,” Hanzo scolded with a quiet laugh. When he reached out again, Sandy repeated the action.

It wasn’t running or digging, but at least he was playing. It would do. Besides, it was cute. Hanzo humored him for a time, listened to him squeak and wondered what might go on in an armadillo’s mind. Eventually Sandy seemed to tire of it and nudged Hanzo again. Hanzo took him back inside, uncertain which of them was herding the other.

It became almost routine for Sandy to follow him about throughout the day. Given that he wouldn’t burrow or use the wheel or even really run properly, as long as continued to be so docile, Hanzo figured it was the best exercise he could get. It concerned him though. He wondered how he was supposed to release Sandy again when he had absolutely none of the survival skills an armadillo was supposed to have. Their facility wasn’t built for long-term captivity, but Sandy was so unsuited for survival that he would have done poorly anywhere else.

“What am I supposed to do with you, Sandy?” Hanzo asked as he led them to the storage room. Sandy squeaked at him. When they got to the back, there was a clean basket of towels ready to be put away with Sandy’s red blanket on top. Sandy grunted and raced for it, scrabbled with his good paw at the side of the basket, and Hanzo carefully pried him away to a flurry of indignant squeaks. “You can’t have it back yet.” Sandy gave that high little honk again, and Hanzo laughed. “I know it’s yours. But you’re dirty, and we just washed it.”

Sandy stared at him and squeaked again like he’d understood him, and Hanzo only shook his head. He had already set out a basin of water before their romp outside so it could come to room temperature. Now he knelt beside it and tapped the side of it. They had gotten better with this; Sandy came right to the basin, squeaking all the while, and clambered in on his own, splashed happily in the water.

Hanzo held the scrub brush in his other hand. “Brush today, or are you just going to play?” Sandy butted his head against Hanzo’s hand until Hanzo scratched at the fuzz around his chin, made his ears flick happily. Hanzo decided to scrub him while he was willing to be still; Sandy wiggled and purred in response, a quick, clicking sound. “You’re being very good,” Hanzo cooed back. “How would you like some fruit salad after lunch?” Sandy only kept purring.

Hanzo laughed and scrubbed him clean, then watched Sandy splash around for a moment. He wallowed in the water again, rolled around in it and sprayed a little at Hanzo with a flutter of his ears. Hanzo left him to play if he wanted, but as Hanzo left his side, Sandy scrambled out of the plastic basin after him, trailing water all over the linoleum in his rush to get to the laundry basket. He scrabbled at it again, and the whole basket tipped on its side, spilling the towels out on top of him.

Hanzo sighed. “You were being so good.” He snatched the blanket away before Sandy could get that wet too, then did his best to dig Sandy out of the pile. He kept rooting around in there, though, undoing all Hanzo’s earlier work. “I just folded these.” He finally got a hand on either side of his shell and tugged him out. Sandy let out his little honk, writhing in Hanzo’s grip. Hanzo wouldn’t let go though. “Do not scratch me,” he said sternly before he pulled Sandy to his chest. Sandy went still, tucked between Hanzo’s arm and chest, while he freed up his other hand to grab one of the towels.

He rubbed him dry, then he set him back down on the floor and turned the basket over on top of him. Sandy squeaked, offended, and pushed it across the floor. Hanzo let him entertain himself that way while he set to refolding all the towels. Sandy grunted at him, and Hanzo could hear the scuttle of his claws and the quiet scrape of the basket before it bumped into him. “You made me refold the towels. You’re in time out.”

Hanzo put a stack of towels up on one of the shelves and turned to find Sandy pushing the basket at the pile that was left. He got it up on top of several towels and wiggled his way under the edge of the basket, shimmied his body until he was free. “Impressive,” Hanzo said. It had almost seemed deliberate. It was strangely clever for an armadillo. Sandy squeaked back at him. “Oh no, I’m still upset with you. I have to fold the rest of these.”

He made quick work of it though, and Sandy’s pitiful squeaking as they walked by his blanket made Hanzo cave. He sighed and grabbed it, then bent down to pick him up. “We have to walk past the foxes again,” he told him, and Sandy went still, let himself be carried with his blanket wadded beneath him, Hanzo idly rubbing at his leathery belly.

They ate lunch in the office, Sandy with some water and a little plate of chopped, steamed carrots, which he ate happily, and a bowl of writhing earthworms he inevitably refused to touch. Hanzo ate another sandwich, this time from home. He saved a couple tiny scraps of the meat, again carefully inspected for oil before he put it on his plate.

When he had finished his sandwich and Sandy was finished with the carrots, Hanzo offered him the fruit salad he had brought from home. Sandy was so excited he ate a piece of banana right from Hanzo’s fingers before he went for the bowl, tongue flickering madly. He got a few bites in before he stopped abruptly, tongue still flicking and his head shaking. He stared at Hanzo and gave an angry honk.

“I thought you loved my fruit salad, Sandy,” Hanzo said gently. Sandy let forth an indignant series of squeaks. Hanzo felt as if he was being scolded, could almost hear him saying _traitor_. “Look, there’s banana, there are blueberries. All your favorites.” Right alongside the ground mealworm and the few tiny beetles he’d tried to sneak in there. Sandy backed away, still squeaking and grunting. Hanzo sighed. “You’re right. It was rude. You’re very clever. That should have worked.”

Hanzo made it up to him by offering the little scraps of chicken on his plate. He didn’t often share his lunch, but they were not sure yet what else could substitute for all the nutrition he was missing from the bugs he wasn’t eating. However angry Sandy had been, he still let Hanzo pet a hand down over his armor. “I’m sorry I tried to trick you,” he said, and Sandy grunted at him. “But you will get very sick if you don’t eat well.” Sandy snuffled at his hands and let him continue to pet him.

There was a sharp knock at the door that caused Sandy to jump, a quick vertical shot straight in the air by over a foot, and Hanzo burst into laughter. He immediately felt bad about it, and he gathered Sandy close, swept him up to hold him as he stood, rubbing at his belly. Sandy purred and flicked his tongue out again. Hanzo opened the door like that, and Lena went a little wide-eyed taking them in.

“That is the world’s worst and _sweetest_ armadillo,” she said with a laugh.

“He is a terror,” Hanzo answered. “Did you need something?”

Lena very plainly worked to look as professional as possible. “There’s someone at the front desk. I wasn’t sure how to deal with her? Could you…?”

“Of course.” He didn’t really think about taking Sandy with him.

At the desk stood a tall, brown-skinned woman, dark hair pulled out of her face in a ponytail. She had a tattoo under one eye, a black line that ended in a curl and seemed strangely familiar. She took one look at him and laughed.

“Can I help you?” Hanzo asked, trying to push down the irritation. He was less skilled with people than with animals, and her strange laughter tested his limited patience.

She bit her lip, made a sound in her throat that was surely choking down another laugh. “You have my armadillo,” she said.

Hanzo looked back and forth between her and Sandy, who was now wriggling in his arms, demanding to be put down. “Excuse me?” he said as he lowered Sandy gently to the floor.

“He’s my pet. I came to take him home.”

Hanzo felt immediately suspicious. It wasn’t out of the question that Sandy might have been raised in captivity, although Hanzo was not sure what to make of an owner who so clearly left him ill-prepared for being an actual armadillo. “What does he eat at home?” he found himself asking.

“Meat? Bugs?” she asked. She seemed to be staring at him awfully hard, concentrating hard on his face.

Hanzo stared right back. “Really? What are his favorites?”

She pursed her lips, plainly irritated with him. “Worms,” she said very firmly.

Hanzo narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m sure you understand that an animal rescue is unlikely to give you an animal without some assurance that you know how to care for it.”

“You can’t just keep my pet,” she said, her voice lower now. The temperature in the room felt like it dropped several degrees.

Hanzo only raised an eyebrow at her. “I shouldn’t have to explain to someone like you why we don’t simply hand out animals.” He looked at the tattoo under her eye again. “Bring me proof he’s yours and that you know how to properly care for him, and we can revisit the discussion.”

She lingered, tried to argue, but he stood his ground. Eventually she left, plainly frustrated by the whole encounter. Sandy had been scratching around under the desk during the discussion, and Hanzo picked him up again, took him back to his office, and locked the door. He let Sandy wander around his office while he pulled out his phone to text his brother. He already had one unread message from him.

[Genji]  
>how’s ur day? mine’s super boring!!!

[Hanzo]  
>Fantastic.  
>Just met a witch.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo stared down Sandy. Sandy stared back. Sandy also stuck his tongue out at him. Hanzo huffed. 

“We need to talk,” he said. Sandy’s tongue flickered at him again.

Hanzo tried to go through the possibilities. He was not well-versed in magic outside his own family’s, and neither he nor Genji had completed all their training, had in fact done everything they could to avoid magic entirely since they left the clan behind. He somehow suspected that even if they had finished, they would not have learned anything about armadillos.

Still, he went through the possibilities in his head. Most likely, given what he knew of witches, Sandy was slated for some nightmarish ritual. Animal sacrifices were not unheard of, even in this day and age. Peculiar animals, especially garden pests and road hazards, would be smart choices for such things; nobody would miss them. Their body parts might also be useful somehow. The witch who’d come to visit hadn’t seemed the type, but Hanzo wasn’t familiar enough with witches altogether to be confident in that assessment.

Of the less bloody possibilities, he might be a familiar. It could explain his spoiled diet and habits, the way he seemed to listen sometimes. But he was missing the leg. That did not suggest he was well cared for, even if he were a companion animal.

He picked Sandy up and set him on the desk so he could look at him. “Don’t fall,” he said, and Sandy stayed put. Hanzo sank into the desk chair. “Can you understand me?” Sandy squeaked at him. Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. Sandy moved about the desktop, claws clacking on the surface, and he grunted at Hanzo.

Hanzo felt deeply foolish, but he had to know for sure. “This is very stupid,” he said aloud. If he was wrong though, there was nobody here to judge him but an actual armadillo. He straightened in the chair, and he looked right at Sandy. “I am going to ask you some questions. You squeak for yes, and for no, you can… do that tongue thing. Understand?” Sandy squeaked.

“Are you a normal armadillo?” Sandy flicked his tongue, and Hanzo snorted. “Then I must apologize for all the times I’ve insulted you.” Sandy squeaked at him.

“Did you know that woman?” Sandy paused, then he squeaked again, sounding strangely as if he were uncertain. Hanzo tried to move past it. “Do you belong to her?” Sandy paused again, then he let out a series of disgruntled squeaks, for all the world as if he had something more he was trying to say.

Hanzo was struck by the limitations of the conversation on top of its patent absurdity. “This may take some time. Would you…” he hesitated, then he texted his brother to be sure. “Would you like to come home with me? I won’t try to feed you bugs again.” Sandy squeaked cheerfully.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking Sandy home with him was easy to arrange with Dr. Winston. Sandy was a bizarre enough armadillo and in need of enough hands-on care that it wasn’t a terrible idea. Sandy seemed deeply offended by the prospect of riding in a cat carrier, but Hanzo coaxed him into it by suggesting that perhaps not everyone needed to know he was not a typical armadillo. Hanzo stuffed the wool blanket in there with him, and Sandy squeaked with what Hanzo imagined to be appreciation. On a whim, he visited the lost and found box, and he snatched up the hat Sandy had come in with.

At home, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with Sandy, but he felt strange leaving him in the carrier now. “You may explore. If you get into anything you shouldn’t, I will put you in a kennel,” Hanzo warned as he let him out. Sandy took several tentative steps on the wood flooring, but he seemed to find it acceptable. Hanzo wondered if he was meant to give the armadillo a tour of the house. Even considering this might be a magic armadillo, the thought seemed like too much.

Hanzo instead set his shoes by the door and went back to his bedroom. He stripped out of the scrubs and pulled on shorts and an old t-shirt to work out. When he turned, Sandy was there at the door he’d left open; he hopped into the air and scrambled back a few feet as if Hanzo had startled him, or as if he had been caught at something.

Hanzo snorted at him. “You may go in there too. I doubt you will find anything particularly interesting.”

 

* * *

 

Hanzo tried asking Sandy more questions as he lifted weights, but it turned out his rusty knowledge of magic and the range of questions he had made it difficult to restrict them to those that could be answered with only _yes_ or _no_. Sandy was little help; he explored the walls of the garage with interest and only rarely looked Hanzo’s way.

After the workout, Hanzo teasingly reminded Sandy that if he found anything disturbed in the house, Sandy could still be kenneled. When Sandy seemed to acknowledge it, Hanzo shooed him out of the bathroom so he could shower. It gave him a few moments alone to go over some further questions, and Sandy was conspicuously absent when Hanzo exited to get dressed again.

He found Sandy burrowed into his blanket near the couch; he had to have dragged it all the way from the carrier by the door. It was almost impressive, especially missing a front limb. “Are you cold?” Hanzo asked, and Sandy squeaked at him. Hanzo pulled the blanket over him, and Sandy made his strange purring sound. Hanzo assumed it meant _thank you_ this time. “My brother will be home soon. Do you remember meeting him?” Sandy squeaked. “He is more imaginative than I am. Perhaps he will have some better questions for you.”

In the meantime, with Sandy’s permission, Hanzo picked him up with his blanket, and he bumped the thermostat up a couple degrees. Then he introduced Sandy to the skinks. They pressed up to the side of their tank, wiggling over each other to get a look at him. Sandy shied back and did not appear to enjoy this.

“They won’t hurt you,” Hanzo said. “They’re only curious. Perhaps they know you are not an ordinary armadillo.” Sandy acknowledged him with a quick purr, but he seemed no more eager than before to investigate the skinks. Hanzo thought briefly about letting them out anyway, but he wasn’t interested in finding out how far Sandy’s hesitation went, or how enthusiastic the skinks might really be to meet him. Next time, perhaps.

“ _They_ eat bugs,” Hanzo said with some amusement. Sandy huffed at him.

Hanzo wasn’t entirely sure what to do while they waited for Genji. He let Sandy onto the couch — “mind your claws” — and he pulled out his handheld. “Do you want to see who you’re named for?” he asked, and Sandy let out a whole series of squeaks. Hanzo paged through his Pokédex until he found it. “There. That is a Sandshrew. It looks a little like you, don’t you think?” Sandy clambered into his lap and pushed closer to see. Then he blinked up at Hanzo and flicked his tongue out. Hanzo snorted. “Perhaps a distant cousin then.”

Sandy stayed there, seeming perfectly content to watch while Hanzo played. He got in the way at times, but it was a little funny, reminded Hanzo of a cat. Halfway through, it occurred to Hanzo to ask, “Do you have another name?” Sandy squeaked at him, and Hanzo hummed to himself, considering strategies that might help him figure it out.

Genji found them this way when he came home, loaded down with grocery bags. “ _I’m glad our guest is comfortable_ ,” Genji laughed on his way to the kitchen. Hanzo carefully lowered Sandy to the floor then followed.

“ _He told me he has a name_ ,” Hanzo said, and he could hear the little click of claws that said Sandy was following them.

“ _Is that right? Do you think it’s a normal name, or something awful that people can’t pronounce? Will we have to squeak at him in his own language?_ ” Genji teased.

Hanzo turned to look at Sandy, who huffed and chattered at them both, sounding almost offended again. “ _I don’t think he understands us,_ ” he said thoughtfully. “Sandy, you understand English?” Sandy squeaked. “Do you understand Japanese?” Sandy flicked out his tongue.

Genji watched the whole exchange with his head tilted, but he politely switched back to English. “You were right that he understands,” he said with some delight. He cracked open a soda, then he looked at Sandy curiously and opened a second. He popped a straw in it and set it on the floor. Sandy could only lick at the straw.

“His mouth doesn’t work that way,” Hanzo said. “And he doesn’t need the sugar.” He snatched the soda away, and Sandy gave an indignant squawk.

“You said he’s a sentient armadillo,” Genji said with a shrug. “He can make his own choices.” Genji poured some of his own into a small sauce bowl and set it on the floor again. Sandy purred at this and slurped some of it up.

It was Hanzo’s turn to give an offended huff, but he was not especially in the mood to engage his brother in an argument about armadillo agency. “I should never have introduced you.” Genji only laughed.

Genji produced a heaping pile of fruit from his shopping bags then began setting aside far too many things for a dinner for two. “I hope you don’t expect us to eat all that in one sitting,” Hanzo said, arranging the fruits in their bowl.

Genji snorted. “Did you look at your messages? I sent you a reminder. Lúcio’s coming over tonight.”

Hanzo inspected a mango and began to slice. “You found out we had a possibly-magic armadillo coming home and you kept your date plans?”

“Yep. Which means you both need to be on your best behavior.” He pointed the knife right at Sandy, eyes narrowed with a playful threat.

“You should cancel,” Hanzo told him firmly.

“Nope. The guy works shit hours and saves actual lives every day,” Genji said, sounding a little dreamy, “and I’m not gonna see him on his new shift for like, at least a week. Even your weird armadillo can’t convince me to cancel these plans.” Sandy squawked at that, and Hanzo opened his mouth to say something, but Genji cut him off without even looking up from what he was doing. “ _Actual human life-saver_ and legitimately excellent person. Who likes me. You two can suck it up for a couple hours.”

Hanzo glanced at Genji, whose cheeks were tinted red. He looked to Sandy, who stared right back at him. He sighed and conceded the point. “We will behave ourselves.” He mashed half the mango with a fork, then set the plate on the floor for Sandy, who gave a cheerful little squeak. “But you get to explain the armadillo to your new boyfriend.”

Genji laughed. “That’s easy: ‘Hanzo has no friends and lives with his brother and three lizards, which is probably the ex-yakuza version of a spinster’.” Hanzo threw a piece of his own mango at Genji’s head; Genji dodged it and it landed with a wet plop on the counter. “‘You’ll have to forgive his bitchiness. The only dates he brings home are animals from the shelter’.” The second piece actually hit him, right in the cheek, and Genji only laughed again as he scrubbed at his face.

“If you say any of that I will tell him every embarrassing story I know. Starting with the mushroom incident.”

“You wouldn’t,” Genji gasped. “I can still poison your dinner.”

“I’m sure your life-saving nurse would love that,” Hanzo said a little smugly, and Genji hummed to himself. He turned the stove on and wordlessly handed Hanzo onions to chop.

It was only once Hanzo’s eyes had begun to water that Genji spoke again in a low, conspiratorial stage whisper: “‘Lúcio, darling, you must play along: he thinks the armadillo is his boyfriend’.” Genji failed to dodge the chunks of onion, and he laughed uproariously at his own joke as he brushed the bits off himself. Hanzo opted not to tell him about the piece still left in his hair.

The doorbell rang soon after Genji pulled dinner off the heat, and Hanzo decided to have some mercy on his brother; he plucked the piece of onion from where it had lodged itself. Genji felt the motion and scrubbed a hand through his hair, glaring at Hanzo on his way to answer the door.

Hanzo plated the food, topped it off with aonori and ginger. He heard two voices getting closer to the kitchen again, and only then did he realize he hadn’t thought to shoo Sandy off or sequester him. “Behave,” he muttered as Sandy moved closer, out of the doorway to the kitchen.

Genji entered laughing, followed by who could only be Lúcio. He carried a six-pack of beer in one hand, a bottle of red wine in the other.

“Watch your step,” Hanzo said, pointing at Sandy, and Lúcio startled, stared a little at the armadillo who seemed intent on staying underfoot.

Genji let out a very quiet grunt. “This is Hanzo. Sorry about his social skills. Hanzo, meet Lúcio.”

Lúcio grinned. “It’s cool, I don’t wanna hurt your friend here either.” He looked at Hanzo, right in the eye. “Genji didn’t say if you were a wine or beer kind of guy, so” — he raised both hands — “I brought both.” He set the bottles on a clear space on the counter, then he reached out a hand to Hanzo. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Hanzo answered, more flatly than he intended, and he returned the handshake. He didn’t bother to hide his assessing look. Lúcio was not what he’d expected. The tattoos and his side gig as a DJ notwithstanding, he had little in common with Genji’s usual flings. He actually looked clean, for one, and despite his impressively firm grip and absolute refusal to let Hanzo intimidate him, he was relaxed about it, radiated a sort of good-natured kindness.

The handshake went on a hair longer than intended, but he caught a glimpse of Genji’s stern look over Lúcio’s shoulder, and he broke it off, did his best to smile politely. “I usually prefer sake,” he finally said, “but I’ll take a beer.”

Lúcio’s face broke in a grin, and he pulled a bottle out for each of them.

Dinner itself was uneventful, mostly a recap from Lúcio’s end on how he and Genji had met — online, naturally — and what he did in his free time — music, video games, tinkering with various musical and electronic equipment, and getting involved with more community organizing projects than Hanzo could keep track of. The first three explained Genji’s interest, but the last added to Hanzo’s grudging list of reasons to respect him.

“So Genji says you work with animals?” Lúcio prompted.

“At the wild rescue shelter, yes.”

“You normally bring them home?” he asked, glancing sideways at Sandy, who huddled in a corner with a little bowl of his own noodles.

Hanzo smirked. “No, but it wouldn’t be the first time for very special cases.”

“So what’s special about that one? Aside from the leg?” Hanzo glanced up at Lúcio, but his face suggested he was genuinely interested, or at least working hard to be. Genji, of course, was beaming.

“He has none of the skills required for surviving in the wild.” Sandy’s head shot up, ears flicking at Hanzo as if he were prepared to be offended again. Hanzo shrugged; he was not going to apologize to an armadillo for every perceived slight, not even a strangely self-aware armadillo, and certainly not in mixed company. “He may have been a pet at some point. Hence the poor diet.”

Lúcio laughed at that. “Seems like he’s got a good home here,” he said after a moment, and Hanzo started. Despite bringing Sandy home, he hadn’t considered making it a permanent arrangement.

“It’s temporary,” he said after a moment, glancing at Sandy, who wandered away from his food.

Lúcio insisted on helping him with the dishes and equally insisted Genji, as head chef, sit out the chores. Though he’d only known him for little over an hour, Hanzo was not at all surprised to find it was a strategy.

“Thanks for giving me a chance,” Lúcio said, refreshingly blunt as he rinsed the plates. At Hanzo’s silence, he glanced up, a wry smile on his face. “You seemed like you didn’t really want to.”

Hanzo considered it briefly, carefully handing him a soapy knife. “My brother is not known for his wise choices.” He cleared his throat. “You seem like a break in that pattern.” He looked sideways at Lúcio. “For now.”

Lúcio laughed outright, and he nodded. “I can live with that judgment.” He dried his hands off then reached for his beer again. “For now,” he repeated, grinning cheekily.

He excused himself soon enough after that, went to join Genji on the couch. Hanzo sighed and dried his own hands, turned to find Sandy lurking near the doorway. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s give them some privacy.”

Sandy followed him to his room, gait slow and lumbering this time, and Hanzo was struck with the sense that the armadillo was holding a grudge. “Are you angry with me?” he asked. Sandy looked away and gave a reluctant squeak; it almost sounded like a question. Hanzo hummed thoughtfully, wondering if he had somehow hurt the armadillo’s feelings. “Because I said your stay here was temporary?” Sandy squeaked again, and Hanzo reached out to pat him carefully. “I thought you already had a home.”

Sandy made no further chatter, but he did purr when Hanzo scratched at the little hairs under his chin, the clicks coming out slower than usual as if he couldn’t quite hold back the sound. Hanzo let out a soft laugh, then he left Sandy to wander the room while he flopped back on his bed to scroll idly through his phone.

He wasn’t used to being banished from his own living room; Genji had never brought home a date before, had always spent his time out at their own homes, and it left Hanzo with the reminder that it had been some time since he had bothered with any sort of dating himself.

Before he could get too deep into his thoughts about any of that, the doorbell rang again, this time quite unexpectedly.

Thinking that perhaps it was unfair to let someone else interrupt Genji’s date, he chose to answer it himself, left Sandy in his room with another warning about the kennel. At the door stood three women. Hanzo recognized one as the woman who’d tried to claim Sandy as her own. “What are you doing here?” he asked, unwilling to hide his irritation.

“We’re here for my armadillo,” said the one from the shelter. She was tall, loomed into his space in a way that might have been intimidating if he were someone else. She carried a large duffel bag that Hanzo wasn’t sure he wished to know the contents of.

Hanzo stood his ground. “This is entirely inappropriate. I told you that you may have him back if you can demonstrate that you know how to care for him properly.”

She sneered at him, but the oldest of the three put a weathered hand on her arm, and she drew back. This woman had a tattoo on her eye that matched the tall woman’s, and the same brown skin, but she wore an eyepatch over the other eye and kept her hair in a long braid, almost solidly white from root to tip. “This young man is doing what he feels is right, habibi,” she said gently. Then she turned her good eye on Hanzo, and whatever gentleness she was capable of, her steady gaze suggested she was also capable of much, much more. “She is not wrong that you have our armadillo, though.”

“Bring me some evidence that you can care for him and that he is yours, and I will release him into your care,” he repeated again. “At the shelter, _not_ my home.”

He began to close the door, and the older woman shoved a hand against it, stronger than she looked. “This is more urgent than you know,” she said. Again she was polite, but with that undercurrent that made his spine go straighter.

“I sincerely doubt—”

“You have my _son_ ,” she said, voice dropping to something steelier than before. Hanzo was so stunned by the declaration that he forgot to put pressure on the door. It nearly swung back into his face from the force she was using. The woman who hadn’t yet spoken struggled to hide a laugh. “Now that we have your attention, perhaps you will invite us in?”

Hanzo thought on it, weighing his options. Their power would be limited here; he and Genji were no longer in practice nor particularly strong after years without practice, but the house was carefully inlaid with the standard protections. That the women had asked for permission before entering suggested they still had some intent to remain peaceful. “Only to talk. You will not take him from the premises until I say so. And I want names first,” he said after a moment. There was power in names.

“Ana,” the old woman said immediately, her one eye looking him over again, measuring.

“Fareeha,” said the tall one, much more sullenly.

The last hesitated, a sharp purple nail tip hovering near her mouth. “Sombra,” she said, and the old woman pinched her hard. She scowled at all of them, which Hanzo felt was a bit unfair to him, but she seemed cowed by Ana. “Olivia,” she said next, voice barely audible and seething with displeasure.

Hanzo still hesitated, but he had agreed to this much. If they were willing to ask for permission and trade their names, they couldn’t mean too much harm. Or they could imagine themselves to be powerful enough that this concession didn’t matter, said a voice he’d long left silent. After a moment, he stepped aside to allow them entry.

“Thank you,” said Ana with a quick bow of her head. The other two entered silently, Olivia in particular giving off waves of discomfort.

Hanzo ushered them into the living room, where Genji and Lúcio sat on the couch staring. “Ah. We have some... unexpected guests.” Hanzo hesitated again, uncertain how to dismiss his brother’s date without also incurring Genji’s wrath or being extraordinarily rude to Lúcio, whose only current crime was his presence at an awkward time. Hanzo looked right at Lúcio. “Perhaps you would like to make an early night of it?”

Genji’s eyebrows shot up. “You are not kicking my date out.”

“This is... sensitive,” Hanzo said through gritted teeth.

Lúcio’s eyes went wide and round as he looked between the two of them. “It’s really not a problem. I can—”

“No,” Genji insisted. “I don’t know what this is, but you should stay.” Genji looked only at Hanzo though.

“This is not the time for—”

“ _If_ I may intrude on your hospitality, I would love a cup of tea,” Ana said breezily, as if she were entirely unbothered by the growing tension. “We have much to discuss.”

With another glare at his brother, he invited the two younger women to sit and invited Ana into the kitchen with him. They set about making a pot of tea — that Hanzo selected, despite Ana’s offer to provide her own leaves — and he silently went through the ritual of it while the old woman looked on. She seemed amused by him.

“Are you a practitioner?” she asked him.

“Not for a very long time,” he answered.

“Yet you still ward your home.” She sounded thoughtful, like Hanzo was a puzzle for her to figure out, or perhaps, more disturbingly, like she had already begun to do so.

“Old habits,” was his only reply. She left him alone after that, but she watched him thoughtfully, a tiny smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

With the tea prepared, they returned to the living room, where they found Genji and Lúcio on the couch, with Fareeha and Olivia both standing silently and sullenly apart from one another. Both appeared as if they were trying to pretend the other was not in the room. Hanzo set the tray on the coffee table, and Ana helped herself to a cup while nobody else moved or spoke.

“Where is he now?” Ana asked, looking directly at Hanzo.

“Elsewhere,” he answered.

“May I see him?” she asked.

“Let us discuss what you said at the door first,” Hanzo said, aiming for the same tone as hers: mild, polite, underscored by something harder. She smirked at him.

“Very well. The armadillo is my son.” Lúcio let out a very strange sound, and Hanzo raised an eyebrow at him and Genji both, the _I told you so_ lingering unspoken. Ana continued unprompted. “He was transformed into this by a witch. _This_ witch,” she said, waving a hand at Olivia.

Hanzo took a sip of his tea, trying to buy himself a moment. He had never heard of such a spell, although that did not make it impossible. His mind had trouble seizing on the puzzle though, distracted as it was by thinking about the armadillo in his _lap_. If it were true, it put a great deal of the animal’s behavior into an alarmingly different perspective. “ _Why_?” he finally asked, fighting with the blush that threatened to heat his face if he lingered too long on the other thoughts.

“To protect him,” Olivia said, and something about her exasperated tone suggested she’d had to explain this all before.

“I… admit I know very little about these things, but I have never heard of a spell that turns a person into an armadillo.”

Olivia huffed. “Listen, there was _a lot_ of tequila involved. For both of us.” Her mouth twitched, like she wanted to laugh but knew better than to do so under Fareeha’s glare. “He pissed off the wrong witch, I tried to help.”

“By turning him into an armadillo.” Hanzo really could not control the way his eyebrows rose.

“Not that. It wasn’t really ‘oh, hey, he should totally be an armadillo’. More like ‘I need him to be safe and fly under the radar’. The magic picked the form.” Olivia gestured vaguely, nose wrinkled as though she were irritated to have to explain this. “I was going to go back and get him, but he was already gone.”

Fareeha sighed, loudly enough that Hanzo suspected it was deliberate. “And now _we_ have to fix it,” she said.

“Which means we need to see him,” Ana said firmly.

Hanzo chewed on the information for a moment. However absurd it sounded, none of it seemed completely out of the realm of possibility, and even Fareeha’s attitude made sense if it were all true; Hanzo suspected she was Ana’s daughter, and he supposed he would be _far_ ruder than she’d been if something similar had been done to Genji. “How do you propose to fix it?” he asked after a moment.

“We’re hoping it’s as simple as the original caster reversing the spell,” Ana answered.

“And if that does not work?”

“We have a few options. None of which will cause more than minor discomfort.”

Hanzo considered it for a moment, looked right at Ana for longer than was comfortable. Then he excused himself to go get Sandy.

On the way out, he heard Lúcio finally break his silence. “We’re just gonna breeze right past the whole ‘witches are a thing and this armadillo’s actually some dude’ stuff, huh?”

“I may have left some details out of my dating profile,” Genji started, and Hanzo did not hear the rest.

Hanzo found Sandy in his room where he’d left him, half-dozing on his blanket. Sandy looked up when he entered, blinking sleepily at him. “Are you really a man?” Hanzo asked, hushed and embarrassed by voicing it aloud. Sandy squeaked. “Then I owe you another apology. You have suffered several indignities at my hand.” And also had seemed more than happy to be carried about and to sit in Hanzo’s lap, but the idea of saying any of that made the whole situation much harder to bear.

Hanzo chose not to read into it, and he cleared his throat. “You should know there are people here who say they are your family.” Sandy only stared back. “Do you know an Ana?” Sandy squeaked at him and moved closer, chattering excitedly.

After several more questions, Hanzo managed to confirm that the women were who they said they were, and that Sandy trusted them to help him with his current condition. “Fareeha came to the shelter, though,” Hanzo said. “You… ran? Hid? I’m not sure.” Sandy looked away, seeming strangely sheepish. “Were you afraid?” Sandy flicked his tongue. “Were you… oh. _Oh_. You were _embarrassed_.” Sandy squeaked reluctantly, and Hanzo could only laugh.

Sandy accompanied him back to the living room after that, although Hanzo now absolutely refused to carry him.

“Jesse!” Ana said delightedly, then knelt to pet a hand lovingly over his head. Sandy stared at the floor.

“I forgot how _cute_ he was,” Olivia said, and Fareeha glared at her. Genji and Lúcio sat awkwardly on the couch, Lúcio chewing his lip. Hanzo wondered what had come of that conversation, although he supposed it said _something_ that Lúcio was still there at all.

Hanzo briefly explained the system of _yes-no_ answers they used, then with Sandy’s permission, Olivia attempted her counter spell. There was a strange fizzling sound, but nothing happened at all. Sandy blinked at her, and she tried a minor variation.

“Maybe you need to be drunk again,” Fareeha suggested dryly, and Olivia only glared back before she tried another. This one was accompanied by a set of sparks and ominous popping noises that made Sandy squeak indignantly.

It seemed that none of Olivia’s array of spells would work. Ana sighed and dug a piece of paper from her pocket, prepared as a backup plan should their first attempts fail. Fareeha dug through the duffel bag for all manner of odd supplies. One by one, they went through them, until every hair on Hanzo’s arms stood on end, until the living room was a mess of candles and crystals and wands and strings and _several_ items that made him feel vaguely nauseated to think about.

Sandy remained an armadillo.

Olivia groaned and nursed one of the beers Lúcio’d brought. So did Fareeha. This, at least, they seemed to have in common. Ana merely sipped at her tea, shot a little burst from her finger from time to time to keep it hot. It seemed they had come to the end of their list.

“Is that all?” Hanzo asked.

Ana sighed, looking very tired and suddenly much older than she had when she’d first arrived. “We have another to try, but it is rather… far-fetched.”

“More far-fetched than a man who’s been turned into an armadillo?” Lúcio asked, rubbing hard at his forehead.

Ana laughed. “Yes, actually. It isn’t a _spell_. The idea came from an old story.” Hanzo was admittedly intrigued, and he was equally certain he would not like whatever came next. “Find him some… prince or princess to kiss him.”

Hanzo snorted, unable to stop himself. “Like a fairy tale.”

“Exactly that,” she admitted. “But if you learned anything from your former studies, it is that the old tales sometimes contain some truths about how magic works.” She sounded tired though, as if she had already given up on this one. Hanzo felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Olivia suddenly laughed. “Or his _true love_ could kiss him.” Everyone in the room groaned. “What? It’s no worse than assuming we should hunt down some royalty to make themselves useful for once.” She rounded on Hanzo, a mischievous glint in her eye. “My spell. The intent was to protect him, and the magic turned him into exactly the thing that got him taken to _you_.”

Hanzo did not splutter, but he could admit he came uncomfortably close. “There is _absolutely zero_ evidence that _that_ is even a… a thing that exists.” All three of the women were staring him down, and he looked to his brother for back-up.

Genji snickered. “Okay, but back to that royalty stuff, like. How strict an interpretation are we talking?” Hanzo felt himself go cold; Genji was only going to make it worse. “Like do the rules say it has to be a prince, or can it be something like, I don’t know, an heir to an empire of some kind?”

“Do _not_ ,” Hanzo snapped.

“Don’t you want to help these people?” Genji asked, blinking wide, innocent eyes at him.

Lúcio granted him the small mercy of distracting Genji when he asked, “Dude, what?”

Ana stared hard at them both, then pointed at Genji. “Yes, you explain.”

Genji laughed, although he seemed anxious when he looked at Lúcio, and he explained their upbringing, their yakuza family and Hanzo’s status within it. He had enough tact in him to gloss over the reasons they had left; their audience seemed to take for granted that leaving a yakuza family was reason enough on its own. Hanzo only shrank back from it all, from the weight of all their stares. It seemed now that Genji’d put everything in those terms, they truly expected him to do this.

“That is all still a stretch,” he insisted.

“And yet you should _try_ ,” Ana said. The exhaustion was gone from her voice, returned as it was to that steely determination. “He’s a very handsome boy,” she added helpfully.

Fareeha must have seen the panic on his face, because she waved a hand and said, “She’s old. He’s not a _boy_ , he’s an adult man.” Then she smirked. “For certain values of ‘adult’.” Hanzo was reminded of Olivia’s story about the tequila and… whatever he had done to anger some witch enough that Olivia’d turned him into an armadillo to save him.

Hanzo sighed. Loudly.

Every one of them stared at him, including Sandy. Hanzo had no good argument against simply _trying_. It was only a brief embarrassment in the face of this man’s fate; it seemed unlikely to work, but it also seemed unlikely that he would last very long as an armadillo. The worst that could possibly happen is that these five people would know he kissed an armadillo, and it remained an armadillo. Compared to the fate of being stuck as one himself — or worrying endlessly over him, as Ana clearly did — it seemed very small.

Very small, and still sort of humiliating.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But I need privacy,” Hanzo said stiffly. He told himself the hopeful look on their faces made it worthwhile.

“You need some time alone with your new boyfriend?” Genji teased.

Hanzo shot a glare at him. “This is undignified enough without an audience,” he said. He looked down to the armadillo. “Are you coming?”

Sandy followed along, shuffling slowly as though he too were embarrassed. As well he should be.

Hanzo set the armadillo on his bed and shut the door. “Stay put,” he said, then he sighed and knelt beside the bed, did his best to put them eye level with each other. “You know what I must do now?” Sandy flicked his tongue against Hanzo’s nose, and Hanzo quickly recoiled. “I don’t think it works like that,” he laughed, then he said more solemnly, “if it works at all.” Sandy only blinked slowly at that.

Hanzo himself was unsure whether it was thinking ahead or only putting this off, but he got back to his feet and draped the red wool blanket over Sandy. Sandy’s ears flicked, curious. “In case this works and you’re—” Hanzo gestured as if that would somehow properly convey _naked_. He knelt again, lips pressed tightly together. Sandy stared unblinkingly at him.

“Not on the mouth,” he muttered to himself, and Sandy let out one of his funny sneeze-laughs, and before Hanzo had time to overthink it, he leaned in quick and pressed a dry kiss to the top of Sandy’s leathery head.

The air around Sandy seemed to bend and shiver, as if Hanzo could see the atoms rearranging themselves to accommodate some other shape. Sandy’s ears flicked once, and his entire body shuddered and started to grow longer. Hanzo jerked back, ended in a startled sprawl on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the strange man who now occupied his bed. He had shaggy brown hair and a beard that could use some proper grooming, although Hanzo supposed he could not blame a man who’d spent several weeks as an armadillo. Pleasant brown eyes blinked at Hanzo, a charming array of tiny wrinkles at the edges. Hanzo felt grateful for his own forethought when he saw the man’s bare brown shoulders.

“Oh,” he said, turning quickly away. He rose to his feet like that, facing his own bedroom door and feeling his cheeks burn. “Jesse, right?” he asked. “I can get you some clothes. If you need? Or… or anything else, really.”

“Maybe you could find what’s left of my pride,” came the wry voice behind him, a little hoarse with disuse but otherwise very pleasant.

Hanzo laughed, and it shook off some of the tension, the sense that he’d somehow done something to be worried about. He’d helped this man and, by extension, his family, and however embarrassing it was, at least Jesse was in the same boat. Likely _more_ embarrassed, all things considered. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for it,” he promised.

From there, he directed Jesse to the contents of his dresser, where there might at least be some clothing that could fit well enough. Any lingering embarrassment was shut down when they arrived in the living room; they were all either too shocked or too relieved it had worked to bother Hanzo about any of it. Ana dragged Jesse into a hug, pressed her face into his barrel chest. She had been intimidating before, but in his arms and happily relieved, she looked very small; the effect vanished immediately when she pulled away to give him a stern lecture on watching his mouth when he drank.

It was funny to watch, and it made Hanzo feel proud of the job he had done. Jesse’s left arm ended early in a mass of scar tissue, which solved the mystery of his leg, but Fareeha produced a prosthetic arm from her duffel bag. It had been the only thing Olivia had found when she went searching for him.

Ana thoroughly inquired after Jesse’s health and generally seemed to overwhelm him with her attention, while Fareeha and Olivia quietly ribbed him for his adventures as an armadillo. Hanzo, meanwhile, sank onto the couch next to his brother, felt himself shrink back uncomfortably from the display. They eventually all seemed to notice. “Perhaps we can stop imposing and continue our reunion elsewhere,” Ana suggested.

They excused themselves politely enough, cleaned up the mess they had made of the living room, and Hanzo saw them all to the door. Each of the women fell back, but Jesse lingered in the doorway, smiling softly in a way that made Hanzo’s insides twist inexplicably into knots. “I can get your clothes back to you soon,” Jesse said.

He wore a pair of Hanzo’s gym shorts and a faded old t-shirt that strained across his chest, the wool blanket slung over his shoulders and the cowboy hat perched on his head. He had no shoes on. “You may keep them if you need. It’s nothing.”

Jesse opened his mouth as if to say more and then shut it again. He cleared his throat. “Thank you. For everything,” Jesse said. “’Cept the bugs. I’m still a little mad about those.” Jesse smiled at that, a bright, charming thing, and Hanzo felt something flutter in his stomach.

“I’m sorry you were such a terrible armadillo,” he answered, and Jesse somehow grinned wider.

There was a silence, one that had Jesse’s eyes tracking over his face as if he hadn’t seen him every day for the past several weeks. It seemed to drag on until it grew increasingly uncomfortable. Hanzo wondered if he was meant to say something more. Jesse shook his head with a quiet laugh, said, “Thanks again,” and he left.

When Hanzo returned to the living room, both Genji and Lúcio were leaned forward in their seats, staring him down. “What?” he snapped, suddenly irritated and uncertain why.

“You get his number?” Lúcio asked.

Hanzo flushed. “No. That seemed… inappropriate.”

Genji flopped back onto the couch, let out a dramatic, prolonged sigh. “You are so _hopeless_.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t actually matter how hopeless Hanzo might be. Jesse arrived the next day with Hanzo’s clothes, clean and neatly folded, and a bottle of sake to show his gratitude. “I didn’t know what brand you liked, but I asked around and came up with this one,” Jesse said with a shrug, hovering in Hanzo’s doorway again.

He had cleaned up and shaped the beard, seemed to have trimmed his hair so that it now looked only soft and wavy instead of outright unruly. And he of course looked much better in his own clothing than in Hanzo’s gym clothes; however ridiculous his belt buckle might have been, the tight jeans and red plaid button-down worked for him.

“So listen,” Jesse said. “I know we met in kind of a weird way, and you know next to nothin’ about me, and all I know about you I learned because I was stuck” — he gestured here, wincing a little — “like _that_ , and maybe that was kinda like spyin’ or eavesdropping or— Anyway, I think you’re pretty great, and I promise I can talk enough for the both of us if you wanna catch up and learn about me.” Jesse laughed then, ran a hand through his own hair. “Point is, uh, you wanna go out sometime?”

Hanzo stared for a moment, feeling a little dazed by the rush of words. Then he cleared his throat. “Yes?” That seemed wrong. “Yes,” he said more decisively, and he watched Jesse’s lips stretch slowly into a smile.

Jesse did indeed talk enough for the both of them, and Hanzo found nearly all of it endearing. On the third date, Jesse jokingly called him Prince Charming, and Genji caught wind of it and teased Hanzo mercilessly. Two months in, Jesse got up the nerve to ask Hanzo which theory behind the kiss he thought was true; four months in, Jesse admitted he didn’t think it _was_ the “prince” one. Maybe, he said, Olivia had been onto something. Hanzo quietly agreed, and Jesse’s answering grin seemed to light up the whole room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to [the anon on Tumblr](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com/post/179134678222/imagine-a-while-later-after-jesses-a-person-again) who sent me a _most excellent_ suggestion that I think we should consider the epilogue to this fic: _imagine a while later after jesse's a person again and somebody Somehow convinces him to eat one of those fried grasshoppers and Hanzo sees this and just yells "are you FUCKING KIDDING ME"_

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic includes:
> 
> 1\. RetrogamingRaccoon's [armadillo in tiny hat and serape](https://retrogaming-raccoon.tumblr.com/post/172456959889/so-i-may-have-with-the-help-of-some-others)  
> 2\. murpl's [armadillo "Wanted" poster](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/murpl/172459197233)  
> 3\. bluandorange's [animal rescue worker Hanzo holding his armadillo pal (colored)](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/172603795890/dillocree-and-his-favorite-caregiver-hanzo-for) [here's the [uncolored version with bonus armadillo sketch](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/172471442250/robo-cryptid-krebkrebkreb-red-lion-prince)]  
> 4\. RedLionPrince's [Jesse McDillo](http://red-lion-prince.tumblr.com/post/172504955328/mcdillo-for-bluandorange-robo-cryptid) and ["Squeak squeak, darlin'" doodle](http://red-lion-prince.tumblr.com/post/172546817168/heres-a-quickly-and-poorly-iphone-drawn)  
> 5\. OperativeSurprise's [McCreedillo sketch](http://operativesurprise.tumblr.com/post/172503466622/mccreedillo) and [Armadillo SMASH](http://operativesurprise.tumblr.com/post/173240461942/todays-on-hold-doodles)  
> 6\. LePetitSelkie's [photo of this weirdass thrift store item](https://lepetitselkie.tumblr.com/post/172560376786/saw-this-at-a-novelty-store-on-grandfather), which totally counts as "found art"


End file.
